“Bog Premonitions” by Éabha Ní Lionáird
He was a man, probably. Now he’s a body. Warped and drowned and bronzed and flattened. He’d lived and died. For an age he breathed beneath watery peat but now lay mangled under museum lights.
He was a man, probably. Now he’s a body. Warped and drowned and bronzed and flattened. He’d lived and died. For an age he breathed beneath watery peat but now lay mangled under museum lights.